


Brothers In Arms

by lost_constant



Category: Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_constant/pseuds/lost_constant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claudio & Benedict share one last night in the camp before returning home from battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers In Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pipisafoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/gifts).



"Ow!"

"Oh, come now. It's not that bad. Just hold still. You're being ridiculous."

"Not that bad?! I'd like to see _you_ have to deal with an—Ow, ow! Now _that_ was on purpose!"

Claudio lifted his head, a mischievous sparkle in his dark brown eyes as he looked towards his best friend's scowling face. Benedict was in a foul mood, his arms crossed over his chest like a petulant child as he slumped back against the head of the cot, with a pout on his lips that Claudio couldn't help but to find all the more amusing. The young soldier gave a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he looked back down again towards the injury.

Claudio sat at the foot of his best friend's bed, holding Benedict's leg outstretched in front of him. He cradled the heel of his foot firmly in his grasp as he tried to assess the damage in the dim light of the tent they shared.

"Well, the good thing is that I believe it's just a sprain," he murmured, reaching to one side for his bag as he set Benedict's foot down to rest against his thigh. "Hopefully, given a day or two it will—"

"It's broken."

"It's _not_ broken," Claudio replied, patient and calm as he retrieved a long strip of cloth before setting his bag aside once more. "It's just a little swollen. Look, if it were broken, this bone right here wouldn't--."

_"OW!"_

"I didn't even touch you!"

"You were thinking about it."

Claudio rolled his eyes upward, praying that the good Lord above would give him strength. Unwinding the strip of cloth, he picked up Benedict's foot into his hand once more with infinite care. The last thing he needed was Benedict's drunken howling and raging to wake up the rest of the camp.

"How did you manage to do this, anyway?" he inquired – hoping that if he kept the man talking, he could wrap the injury quickly and efficiently without too much resistance.

"Coming outta the bar," Benedict muttered with a grumpy frown, leaning his head back against the cot with a sigh. "Found a step that hadn't been there before."

Claudio smirked, arching a brow. "Uh huh."

That head lifted and Claudio actually smiled all the more at the obvious annoyance written on his friend's face. "It's not funny. I could have killed myself!"

"No, we're not so lucky," Claudio replied and chuckled at the older man's "hmph" before he flopped back against the cot once more.

As he slowly wrapped the injury, Claudio turned his gaze upward to watch Benedict's face in the flickering light of the candle. His gray eyes were heavy and stared vacantly towards the roof of their tent – still seeming to be feeling the effects of the drink he'd had in celebration tonight. And quite the celebration it was, too! Well, after all, with the war now having finally come to an end and with the order that they were to break camp tomorrow already circulating amongst the ranks – well, needless to say, there seemed to not be a single unhappy man in the camp tonight!

Well, all except for Benedict, that is.

"Heading towards Messina, I hear," that gruff voice muttered softly after several minutes of silence, a light scowl still upon his face.

"Yes," Claudio spoke, noncommittally as he dropped his gaze once again back down towards the injury. "So I hear."

"Excited?"

There was a shrug. "It is a fair town. Welcoming. It will be nice to have a real bed to rest in for a change."

Benedict chuckled wryly. "A fair town, indeed. Especially in their women."

The younger man arched his brow, drawing his eyes upward as he grinned. "Especially one such as that fiery niece of good Leonato."

The bark of laughter was abrupt and deep from within the man's belly as Benedict shook his head. "_Beatrice_? A common thing! She certainly does not appeal to my eyes." His expression shifted, becoming shrewd as gray eyes finally drifted downwards and met with brown. "I was speaking more in line of his daughter. Hero, by name. What of her, friend?"

Despite himself, Claudio felt himself beginning to flush and suddenly he was growing increasingly more interested in the work at hand.

Benedict chuckled – now a more hollow sound – as he looked back up towards the roof again. "Aye. So I thought."

Claudio did not respond. He did not feel the desire to either confirm nor deny his best friends obvious accusations. Instead, he wrapped the remainder of the cloth round about his foot and began to tuck it carefully into place.

"There. How does that feel. Secure?"

But Benedict didn't seem to be listening. His gaze was unfocused…and his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Claudio, tell me. Do you believe you will miss the war?"

The young man blinked at the question. "Miss the war? All this fighting and killing and needless bloodshed? No, not I. I have no desire for such things. My loyalty is to Don Pedro and so I follow him as he commands…but I'll not miss the opportunity to be away from all this and home once more."

"Hm," Benedict grunted and a curious expression passed briefly along his face – one that Claudio couldn't quite put a finger to. He slipped his foot from Claudio's grasp and rose to his feet, briefly unstable before he managed to catch his balance once again with a quick hand to his friend's shoulder. He closed his eyes, lifting one hand to rub across his face before giving a sigh. Claudio continued to watch him, curious and confused by this sudden change in mood and blaming it largely on the amount of alcohol that had been consumed tonight.

Benedict took a ginger step away from him, testing out the wrappings and looking down at his bandaged foot before giving a satisfactory nod.

"Good work," he muttered with a glance towards him...then he turned, moving carefully in the direction of the front of the tent with a slight limp to his usual swagger. "Gotta go take a piss."

His hand moved outward, pushing the flap of the tent aside and was preparing to step into the cold night air when Claudio spoke.

"Benedict."

The man turned back around, giving a tilt of his head in acknowledgment.

The young man rose, and gray eyes followed him in a haze as he moved towards him. A strong hand lifted and clapped itself to Benedict's shoulder as those youthful features smiled at him with genuine affection and companionship.

"It will be nice to be home again – away from all this fighting and war," he spoke…before giving a low chuckle. "But I will find the quality of my life rather lacking without your company."

And at those words, something in those gray eyes cleared. That haunted, dark look seemed to brighten – and once again it was the man that Claudio knew so very well standing before him. A large hand rose and Claudio felt him clasp hold of his shoulder in a similar fashion to his own, and with a subtle smile, he nodded and then hobbled his way outside.

Claudio stood at the entrance of the tent, watching his friend walk away and shaking his head. It was strangely humbling. To know that a braggart as pompous and proud as Benedict…would take such weight and importance in his own opinion and friendship.

It was something that caused him to smile to himself before turning about and returning back into the warmth of their tent. He needed his rest. Tomorrow they departed for Messina – and to his beloved Hero.


End file.
